


Just A Legend

by LicieOIC



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Dreams, F/M, Fantasizing, Masterbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 13:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2852084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LicieOIC/pseuds/LicieOIC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the first day of Wankfest, my true love gave to me - an Academy Era First Doctor! He knows she's just a legend, but that doesn't stop him from dreaming about her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Legend

**Author's Note:**

> The first story of Wankfest 2014, featuring the first Doctor, circa the Academy Era! I hope you enjoy! This is utterly NSFW!

_Gold hair… Gold eyes… Warm arms, drawing him close… Murmured words he couldn’t quite hear… Petal soft lips… Then a blaze of fire as her essence flowed to every part of him, twining around his timelines until they were irrevocably merged…_

He woke up gasping, drenched with sweat, despite his dormitory room maintaining the perfect temperature at all times. He sat up and dragged his hands through his straight black hair. The glossy locks were just a little longer than was acceptable since they curled over the collar of his orange and scarlet Prydonian robes and his professors frowned on that. He’d always been a bit of a rebel, which had led to his current predicament.

It had been seven cycles since he’d stolen the forbidden scroll from the Temple of the Eternals. He’d climbed up a silver leafed cadonwood tree, was viciously pecked by a brown flurry bird, and toppled in through the roof of the temple, all because if something was forbidden, then it was obviously worth a look. It was seven cycles now since he’d read the legend of the Golden Goddess. And every time he’d slept since, he’d been haunted by the image of her, tendrils of the vortex emanating outward, beckoning him. Tempting him with her beauty and her seductive timeline whispering along his. Making him want, as nothing else ever had.

He squirmed and threw off his blankets. At least the dream hadn’t progressed too far this time, which was both a blessing and a disappointment. Disappointing because losing himself within her was the most sweetly carnal, divinely exquisite thing he’d ever known. A blessing because he hadn’t managed to mess his sheets this evening. He’d perplexed enough laundresses by insisting on washing his own bedclothes the past three times, not wanting anyone to see the shameful stains.

Time Lords weren’t supposed to _do_ this kind of thing, and they definitely weren’t supposed to _want_ it. But as he frowned down at the tented front of his sleep tunic, there was no denying that he very much _did_ want it.

Coitus. Sex. Carnal relations. Love making. Doing the deed. _It._ Slap and tickle. Shagging. Fucking. So many ways of saying it over the web of time, and they all meant the same thing.

And he didn’t want it with just _anyone,_ either. That would be far too easy. He felt nothing for his sometimes-compatriot the Rani, other than a wary curiosity, and mostly just a close brotherhood with his friend Koschei. For the Golden Goddess, however…

He groaned as his still-hard cock bobbed impatiently, a wave of arousal spiking deep in his gut, demanding satisfaction. Just thinking about her was enough to get him hard instantly, whenever and wherever he was. It was damned inconvenient. He’d taken to carrying around a large book with him, just in case he needed something to hide behind.

“She’s _just_ a legend,” he muttered to himself. “A mythical being forged out of a covenant with Time itself, purported to appear only in the most dire of circumstances, to aid the Guardians of Time - The Time Lords.” He recited what the scroll had revealed, but the facts did nothing to cool his ardor. His cock, apparently, had _no_ sense of logic, especially when it came to what _it_ would term, with its limited sentience, a ‘dire circumstance.’ With a growl of frustration, he reached under his tunic, pulling the garment up to his waist, to relieve himself.

Closing his deep blue eyes, he lay back on his pillows. He groaned deeply as he closed his hand around the base of his cock and slowly swept it over the sensitive time ridges up to the swollen head. His breath caught in his throat as his thumb caught a drop dripping from the tip and in his mind, it was her tongue, the goddess’ hot wet tongue, darting out between her wide pink lips to taste him.

Her image came so readily to the forefront, gloriously nude, her skin pale and glowing amid a golden miasma of swirling stars. She knelt over him, straddling his legs. If he looked, he would see her breasts dangling down, their rosy tips brushing his thighs. Then the line of her back as she leaned all the way down to kiss his bollocks, tracing each ribbed line with the tip of her tongue, her perfectly rounded arse high in the air.

He kept the pace with his hand slow, just as she would, she would tease him with little touches and flicks of that tongue before taking him into her mouth. He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, recalling with crystal clarity how hot she always seemed to him in his dreams. So much hotter than his Gallifreyan blood. It was always as if she might set him aflame whenever he was inside her, but he never cared. He came to crave that heat, the burn she created from the inside out whenever her lips touched his.

His throat worked as he swallowed thickly, picturing her taking him in, measure by measure, until her nose would brush the tight thatch of black curls above his length, her throat relaxing around him. And then she would look up, those golden eyes searing him, marking him, naming him as hers. His cock pulsed in his grip. He was getting close.

The mental setting changed and she was beneath him, spreading her legs wide, welcoming him into the cradle of her hips. He nudged her folds with his rigid length, coating the tip with the wetness that dripped out of her, all for him. He surged inside and her moans were like music, the feel of her clenching around him like the closest thing to perfection that he could imagine.

He stroked faster, twisting his wrist a bit, as he drove into her in his mind’s eye, their flesh slapping together in a rhythm that was an offbeat counterpoint to his quadruple heartsbeat. Higher and higher they raced together, and just as he felt the rise in himself, she grabbed him by his hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him down in a blazing kiss, her time pouring relentlessly into him, filling him with ecstasy, until he felt he would burst.

He cried out, ending in a long moan, as his heels dug into the bed and his back arched up. His cock jerked with each shot of come, the liquid seeping into the material of his tunic, bunched at his waist. He tried to hang onto her image, to the feeling of her merged with him, but it shimmered out of reach like a falling meteorite, burning up in the atmosphere.

With a deep sigh, he let his eyes flutter open and he stared at the ceiling for a moment, letting the feeling of languid satiation settle over him like a warm blanket. Only he couldn’t fully relax.

He got to his feet and yanked his tunic off, irritably throwing it in the hamper near one corner of the room. This was ridiculous. He was enamoured of someone who didn’t exist. A legend. A reality only on paper. Hands on his slender hips, he frowned over at his desk where he’d hidden the forbidden text. This had to be a curse, for stealing it. Not that he believed in curses.

But just to be sure, he’d return the thing in the morning and suppress any memories of ever having read it and the dreams that followed. If he couldn’t remember her, he couldn’t dream about her.

He hoped. Because she was a serious distraction. He was already nervous about not passing his exams. He knew he’d never be able to explain what had been the cause of his lack of focus, were he to fail. He could just see it: _Failure due to a cheeky golden tart making him wank repeatedly; complete fail; not Time Lord material._

He shuddered and went to his dresser for something else to sleep in. He’d already daydreamed through most of TARDIS flight testing, resulting in a most spectacular crashing of the entire simulation system. That hadn’t been good. Failing would be a whole galaxy of not good. If he failed, he’d never earn his title.

He had it all picked out. _The Doctor._ He thought it sounded sort of impressive.


End file.
